KISS IT OFF MEㅤfwb!kageyama
2.2k wc 𓍼 nsfw. afab!reader.
you're into zodiacs so what's mine? tell me and kiss me at the same time.
STANDING IN FRONT OF YOUR VANITY MIRROR, he has his back turned to you—barechested in all his glory.
tobio is giving you a show. he really is and he doesn't even know it.
he's leaning in your picture-cluttered mirror, applying some of your lip balms. other than you can see half of your sprawled figure on the bed, through the reflection, you can see how his brows are loosely knitted in concentration. his boyish face giving out almost the same intensity that reminds you of his brutal on-court demeanor; now juxtaposing against the dewy pinkness of his soft lips from the pink-tinted balm. your gaze has dropped to his mouth and it hasn't left ever since.
how on earth a boy has more flushed and pert lips than you?
his left hand is placed on the surface for support, the other holds the pink iridescent tube. it's your favorite, the same one you tend to put on. not that he told you, but in the good ol' kageyama fashion, it's just one of his types of ways to explain how the strawberry flavor is growing on him, especially the way it lingers on his lips right after tasting it from yours.
on the foot of your bed, there lays his discarded t-shirt.
you could be honest; say it stands out even among your most colorful plushies—it's an eyesore.
but for no other reasons, really, other than because it's spitting domesticity; it's saying your relationship with him has reached past formalities.
but what could you honestly expect considering the rate of how frequently the both of you—quote-unquote—"hang out"?
said hang-outs that go like this:
around the afternoon, tobio is going to call you up, asking if he can come around at your place;
he's going to greet you at the front, wearing the sweatpants and a hoodie on;
he's going to down his favorite yogurt milk that you threw at him from across the kitchen before the two of you make a beeline upstairs and into your bedroom;
and just nanoseconds from setting foot on your bedroom, he's discarding his shirt, swiftly pulling it over his black tufts and onto your white sheets;
now half-naked, he's going to make a short trip across the room towards your bedside table, the one that's entirely occupied by a record player. his slender fingers will skim over your stacked records beneath it before pulling out a record of either beach house's bloom or cigarettes after sex's cry if he's feeling rather spicy;
and in a matter of seconds, the record will begin to spin as he flops on your bed, crossing his legs. and before you know it, he's blinking at you and then he's raising both of his arms, wiggling his fingers towards you as though signaling you like a child to get your ass over here because you're still standing by your bedroom door.
and you're going to linger there, still absorbing the endearing little routine that he just did.
because no matter how many times he does this as though on autopilot, you still can't wrap your head around how you got kageyama lounging, bare-chested in your bedroom as if he was already marked it to deem as one of his natural habitats.
today, tobio has done it and is doing it again.
on your bedside, the turntable spins a record, humming an ambient, dreamy melody. today, he popped down the cigarettes after sex from the cover and onto the cartridge.
and right now, standing by the vanity, he stands half-naked, his toned back flexing with every movement. his washboard abs is on full display, and so is his v-line that disappears in his sweatpants.
you hate how you're drinking it all up. watching him, eyefucking him. it almost felt wrong the way you're enjoying it; how little you wanted to look away.
you could stare at his back all day.
and for the first clear thought in months:
you know you're falling in love—and you know that it will hurt if he lets go of you first.
in the reflection of the mirror, he shoots you a glance. he heard all that, you think.
"everything okay?" he says, sizing you up as he already caps back the lip balm.
you like to think that you're crafty with the way you hide this. but just when you're about to forget, tobio is craftier; rather an extraordinaire in reading you.
you keep your palms flat on the duvet and try not to fidget, scared that even an infinitesimal shift can have the back of your hand catch on fire under his mere gaze. instead, you nod, smiling at him through the mirror, although not quite reach your eyes.
almost instinctively, he searches for those dimples of yours that usually pop. it didn't even show this time around. he notices this and notes it, immensely. something is wrong.
you pat the mattress, beckoning him.
"get your ass over here so that i could finish painting your nails, c'mon," you interject with the air of trying to be in an upbeat attitude.
he straightens his back from leaning over your vanity. "yeah, just a sec," he says, now walking towards your dresser.
everything about the way he moves is deliberate—not like a schoolboy trying to avoid scaring a stray cat he wishes to befriend, but the way a nurse moves; quiet, efficient, and comforting, all in one.
on top of your dresser, there's a jar of assorted backflow incense cones. as he dips his hand in there, he glances at you once again. your shoulders feel tense. he picks up one.
tobio starts lighting up the pointy end of it with a lighter. you watch him closely as his eyes do the same, blue ones focused on the red-orange of the flame. within a matter of seconds, the tip is now ignited with a small glowing ember. carefully, he fans it as smoke starts coming out of the bottom before placing it on the holder just like how he sees you do it.
before you know it, a familiar calming fragrance is wafting around the room. lavender. he picked up lavender.
he looks over his shoulder and looks at you.
"did," he says blinking at you then back over at the incense burner, "did i do it right?"
you break into a smile, now giving him a toothy grin. "yeah."
tobio makes a short trip toward you. he flops down on your mattress, his left leg crossed while the other dangles on the side of the bed.
he extends his hand. all his fingernails are almost polished except for his pinky. one of your pillows is positioned between the two of you as a makeshift working surface. on top of it, you hold his hand steadily.
"so with what you're talking about earlier… about hoishiumi asking you and the guys for your star signs… what did you say?" you ask as you work on his nails.
"oh, that. yeah, so he was asking something about our star signs—wait, does that thing come off?"
he watches over you closely as his eyes wander the crown of your head. you're already working on his pinky, painting it with a last coat of periwinkle.
you hum an absent-minded mhm as you hold on to his outstretched, slender fingers close to your face for precision.
without looking up, you say, "and then…?"
"and then i told him what you told me about being er… what is it, a c-capa, carpi—caprisu—"
you giggle, pausing in the midst of applying his nails a quick dry polish. looking up, you stare at him. he seems to be so deep in thought towards this stuff about astrology which is way too under his radar but still droning on as he tries to find the right word. in a way, you find this gesture heartwarming. his head is cocked to the side, his bangs slightly falling over to the direction.
"capricorn, yes, that's the one. oh my god, tobi you did it!" you beam at him, teasing.
as you giggle into his hand, tobio can't help but curve a smile on the corner of his lips. "y-yeah, that one—whatever that means… what does it mean…? by the way?"
"let's just put it this way." you brush a stray strand of black hair away from his eyes. "the way i figure it, capricorns are sexy."
"er, yeah? have you seen you?"
he rolls his eyes hiding the fact that there's already pink in his cheeks.
"no but seriously. y'all are crazy-attractive. don't even get me started with a capricorn's work ethic."
"huh." he leans back in his spot. "so you think i'm sexy? you think i'm crazy-attractive?"
this time you're the one who's rolling your eyes. "tobio. you're so good at what you do—everyone with eyes can say so. but even then, you don't stop until you've reached the certain standard you set for yourself and since we're talking about you, i can't even fathom how high that degree is. you're… you're killing it."
you stare at each other. or rather, he's staring at you, as though absorbing every word that just came out of that pretty mouth.
did you just fuck it up? in a way, you think you came off too strong with that one; with how cheesy, character-centric and overall just genuine your explanation was. as though the bits of your admiration towards him were all accumulating at the back of your head and now amalgamated into this one seemingly rehearsed romantic confession.
you feel vulnerable. you also feel the need to immediately defuse the tension with something like incredibly off-putting humor.
"plus," you say after a moment's pause, "i've literally seen what's underneath your pants and you. are. packing."
and of course, it has to be a dick joke.
he sighs, rolling his eyes once more. "c'mon…don't do that."
before you know it, tobio gasps. just like that, you have he completely choking on his own air.
because when you have your hands reaching over the strings of his sweatpants, your fingers fiddling with it like that, he's bound to. it's not his fault his brain would just straight-up do a short-circuit.
you like him in every piece of clothing he wears, truly. but him in these gray sweats? it's a wobbly-knees guarantee.
it's the same pair of gray sweats that hangs dangerously low right at the spot of his v-line.
it's the same pair that will end up on your bedroom floor; because making out with tobio is a one-way ticket to this:
his arm positioned further back to hold his body up to get a better view of you—which always end up being a bad idea for him as he wants to last long—and so throwing his head back as his hands make their way to the crown of your head and tangle into your hair. he has his eyes shut, containing himself not to push down as you struggle to even take half of his girth length. all the while, it's just the sound of your record player blaring shoegaze music that's muffling his raspy, sinful moans.
right now, you look up at him. and you like what you see.
he looks out of place, yet gives out such domesticity as he situates himself on your bed with some of your plushies, which may or may not be undercutting all that hot god facade. either way, it's making your heart flutter.
his lips were drawn in a hard line. they now look dewy more than ever, completely untouchable all the same, and yet you have kissed them, ran your tongue across them, and bit them even, countless times—strawberry flavored or not.
he's slowly sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.
his knees are touching yours. his breath is getting uneven, and in each passing second, he's getting worked up with the proximity of your small hands on the growing tent in his pants to even realize he's now just gaping down on you.
your other hand reaches out for your phone on the nearby end of the bed, bending down a little.
he could see down your shirt.
you tilt your head to the side. "what'cha looking at, tobi?"
"er, your nails… i was just looking at your nails."
while tobio's were painted in pastel, yours was in deep blue. just like your eyes, you never forget to remind him.
you take a picture of both of your newly-done nails before returning your gaze to his.
if you're gonna break my heart, this is a good start
the familiar, comforting lavender sage scent is lingering around your nose, and he's staring at you. the dreamy hum of the song playing is amplifying what your heart has been begging to get out of and he's staring at you.
you know this look very well.
he blinks slowly, looking at you as though you're the world. his pupils glazed by a milky film of—somewhere between lust and adoration. either way, it's the blueness of his eyes getting darker with every flutter that usually gives it away.
tobio is under your mercy, asking for something, pleading you a message.
and you hate that you will give it to him—you hate that you will give anything to him in a heartbeat, and not just skin-deep blowjobs.
throwing your phone somewhere on the bed, you started tying your hair.
but he's retracting his hand to grab a hold of yours.
"hey," he whispers, taking the hair tie from your open palm and slipping it on his wrist instead.
after a moment's pause, he says, "i'll hold 'em up for you."
as you take tobio all in, your hair tie wraps his wrist, adorning his hand that claws your locks.
i have a fair amount of capricorns in my circle and they're all such sexy mfs. i love y'all, truly. tobio being a sagi-capri cusp, he has to be one of 'em.
© TOBIOMI, 2023. please do not plagiarize, repost & translate.
